Chapter 8
RHI
The phantom caress of Nick’s lips linger long after he vanishes, leaving me riddled with desire and confusion.
Months. Months, I’ve gone without setting my eyes upon him, without the feel of his hands and the press of his hard body against mine, without his scent enveloping me. And it was all snatched away at his abrupt departure.
When the body of the demon fell at my feet, revealing Nick as my savior, all the air had rushed from my lungs. I stood rooted in place, my thoughts and emotions a chaotic jumble upon seeing him in the flesh. Unbroken. Whole.
Alive.
I could only stare and drink him in, drink in the raven-black tendrils, longer than I remembered, curling around his temples and dipping towards his brow, the curve of his strong jaw and outline of his full lips.
But it was his eyes that ensnared me—bright and beautiful, the most brilliant shade of pure gold, all traces of the dark amber gone.
I almost lost it then, almost unveiled everything to just wrap him in my arms and beg him to remember who is. Who I am. What we are to each other.
Soulmates.
There were moments between us when I sensed his unease, moments that had me thinking perhaps this wouldn’t be difficult.
That he remembered. It was in the reverence of his gaze, the subtle, soft stroke of his thumb against my cheek.
Something stirred in his memory, of that, I am certain.
And yet, just before I could feel the euphoria of his lips upon mine, he dropped my hand and disappeared without another word.
Whispers scatter about the room, even though the revelry has not lost its exuberance since Nick demanded it proceed after he ripped the demon’s heart from its chest. Before anyone again approaches me, I move through the throng of dancing bodies to follow Nick, hoping to get him alone.
Nick moves swiftly through the crowd, ignoring those who bow to him. His soundless footsteps are stealthy and sure as they reach the lengthy corridor; if it weren’t for my own agile traits, I would have surely lost him by now.
Drunken revelers line the corridor, raucous laughter and breathy moans filling the space as they sneak into dimly lit corners.
Nick slows a bit once the solid wall breaks into the open, arched windows, but again, he quickens his pace.
He breaks sharply to the left, and I peer around the corner to watch him walk through a door flanked by two of his guards.
Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepare a lengthy tirade of lies and excuses to persuade the guards to let me in, but I pause when a familiar figure appears from a shadowy alcove.
Long, pale gold hair is pushed from her slim shoulders, and she walks with an understated elegance I assume one can only achieve when they are born with royal blood.
Her stunning dress shimmers in the soft glow of firelight as she approaches Nick’s door.
Isadora. The future Queen of Hell.
Nick’s betrothed.
Acids churns in my stomach and burns my throat.
My chest tightens with a pressure I thought long abated as the guards nod to her, and she slips inside.
I press my back against the wall, swallowing roughly, my eyes brimming with tears.
A familiar rage boils in my blood, my Scylla more than ready to oblige my fury, but I tamper it down.
It is no fault of this woman’s, nor is it even Nick’s, who believes himself to be someone else entirely.
Still, I press the heel of my hands against my eyes to suppress my tears.
Finally, I square my shoulders and return to my room, praying my dreams aren’t plagued by what the two of them are doing behind that door.
A light rapping at my door awakens me from a fitful sleep, and I bury my head beneath my pillow.
As much as I tried not to think of Nick and Isadora, my thoughts constantly strayed to images of the two of them, her writhing beneath his bronzed, sculpted body, him pounding into her, his hands and mouth bring her to peaks of pleasure only I—
The rapping transforms into an incessant pounding.
“What?” I growl, sitting up right.
My door opens, and my two ever-reluctant ladies’ maids step inside, glowering in my direction.
“Forgive us,” Mira says in a stony voice that makes me think I am beyond reproach, “but your presence is requested at breakfast.”
“By the King?”
“By the future Queen,” Aurelia says as she busies herself rifling through the closet.
Mira ushers me from the bed, already gesturing for me to remove my nightgown.
“Any chance I can dress down a bit today?” I pull my nightgown over my head, only to be greeted by Mira’s bewildered stare.
“Dress down?”
“Yes, you know, something simple. A pair of pants, perhaps?”
Aurelia turns to me with a horrified expression, her hands clutching yet another elaborate gown, this one a deep, striking green.
“There goes that idea,” I mutter.
The two get to work as they did last evening, helping me into the gown, which I have to admit is stunning yet simple, if entirely inappropriate.
The front and back are both split by a deep ‘v’, the pinnacle of the plunge held together by a bright, gleaming ruby.
The rest of the silk gown spills comfortably down my legs, and I silently thank the gods it isn’t as tight as the gown I wore to the ball.
“This is what you wear to breakfast?” I ask as Aurelia sits me down and begins plaiting my hair.
“You are dining in the presence of royalty. It is expected for you to appear as such,” Mira snarks.
“Noted.” There is a pregnant pause before I ask, “Will the King be joining us?”
“No,” both demonesses answer at the same time.
Disappointment floods my abdomen. “Is there a way I can speak with him?”
Mira narrows her eyes. “The King is very busy, as I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes, but—”
“If he wants to speak with you, he will find you,” Aurelia says, much more cordially.
I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at them both.
Once satisfied I look presentable enough, Mira practically shoos me out the door.
The two ladies flank me on either side, guiding me through the twisting corridors of the stony castle.
They lead me toward a spiral stairwell, and it isn’t until we round the landing during our descent that I realize I’ve been placed as far from Nick as possible.
Brine-scented air wafts into my nostrils, and I’m greeted by the stunning view of a sparkling blue and green crystalline ocean through the open, arched windows. Just as I move closer to obtain a better view, a hand grips my wrist and yanks me back.
“What—”
Aurelia places a finger to her lips, quieting me. Mira peers around the corner before facing us.
“Let’s go back that way,” she says hurriedly, fluttering her hands in my direction.
“Why?”
She pins me with an annoyed stare. “Must you always be so obstinate?”
I open my mouth to tell her yes, in fact, but the harsh voice of a man drifting in from the corridor has me pause.
“You are failing,” the male says, his unforgiving tone making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Do I need to remind you what happens if you fail?”
“I-I’m not,” says the woman, shakily. “I am his betrothed. I—”
“And yet, he danced with the mortal whore, something he has never done with anyone, including you. His betrothed.” The sneer in his voice is audible.
Though both Aurelia and Mira attempt to haul me back, I shrug them off and peer around the corner.
Isadora stands with her back pressed against the wall. A large, gruff demon with hair the same pale gold looms above her menacingly.
“Who is that with the future Queen?” I whisper.
“Her father, Lord Argos,” Mira answers meekly.
I turn and arch an eyebrow incredulously. “Her father?”
“He is one of the more…ornery demon lords,” Aurelia supplies.
Ornery seems like a gross understatement.
I return my attention to the future Queen and the demon she calls Father.
Not a single shred of affection softens his gaze as he glowers down at his daughter.
Her body trembles—it’s slight, but my keen eyesight recognizes it nonetheless.
He raises a hand towards her, and Isadora flinches, clenching her eyes shut and turning her cheek.
“I spent the evening with him,” she says, desperation clinging to every word, as though the simple sentence might be her salvation.
“Yes. I heard.” Lord Argos’ gaze trails over his daughter’s exposed cheek before he grabs her roughly by both arms, jostling the girl. She again flinches within his hold. “Did you fuck him?”
Bile rises in my throat. I lurch toward the duo just as two sets of hands haul me back.
“Please, my lady, you mustn't intervene!” Mira hisses.
I stare at the demoness, wide eyed. “Are you fucking kidding me? How can he treat her that way? She is the future Queen, his own daughter, for fuck’s sake.”
Aurelia’s throat works on a swallow. “Perhaps things are different in your realm, but here, a woman is her father’s property until she is married. And then, she is the property of her husband.”
I resist the urge to loll my tongue in disgust. Lord Argos’ perilous voice draws my attention back to Isadora and her sorry excuse for a father.
“Well?” he presses, tightening his hold on her arms. Isadora winces, and I’m seconds away from releasing the Scylla and tearing his body to shreds.
I doubt anyone would miss him.
Isadora recovers, showering him with a bold look. “Yes. I fucked him.”
She’s lying, but it doesn’t alleviate the constricting pressure in my chest.
“How did he fuck you?”
Isadora blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
Lord Argos’ lips curl into a sneer. “You heard me.”
Acid lurches in my stomach and creeps up my throat as Isadora’s mouth parts. “Against the wall. He held me by my throat until I could barely breathe.”
I can barely breathe due to the fact that her voice didn’t so much as tremble. Uncertainty creeps in as I consider she might be telling the truth. After all, I had been in that position countless times, fucked against the wall at Nick’s mercy, his hand wrapped around my throat.
And yet, through all of this, the urge to rush in and help her is overwhelming, so much so that I can’t help but wonder where the fuck Nick is and why he hasn’t stepped in yet.
The demon Lord cocks his head to the side, gaze falling to her neck. “Why are you not marked?”
“The King made them disappear.”
His mouth parts in a cruel smile. “Then I will bestow some on you myself—for being a fucking liar.”
No sooner than the demon Lord’s thick fingers reach for Isadora’s throat, I find myself shouting, “Stop!”
His hand freezes millimeters before her pale neck, and he turns his head, lasering those black, depthless eyes on me. “Mind your business, whore. This doesn’t concern you.”
I approach him, ignoring both my ladies’ maids' whisper-shouting and the insult. After all, I’ve certainly been called worse.
“Take your fucking hands off her.”
The demon Lord’s answering smile is nothing short of devious. He turns his attention from Isadora, who stares at me in both bewilderment and horror. The demon stalks towards me, one blonde brow raised mockingly.
“And what, exactly, do you plan on doing about it?” He invades my space, but I stand with my feet firmly planted.
“Do you think anyone would care about the disappearance of some mortal whore?” His nose skims my hair, and he takes a long inhale, drawing back slightly in surprise before he grips both of my wrists, gritting his teeth. “What are you?”
I struggle within his grasp, wishing to the gods I could unleash the Scylla. It writhes and snaps ferociously beneath my skin, begging to be released.
“Get the fuck off me!” The attempt is futile, and his grip only tightens before he releases one hand to grip my cheeks.
“I think our King should know his mortal whore may not be entirely mortal. Perhaps I will take you back to my chambers and—”
The demon Lord chokes and sputters, his words cut off abruptly. Blood pours from his mouth, and Nick manifests behind him, appearing out of thin air.
“I’d be mindful of how you finish that sentence, Lord Argos.”
The demon Lord wheezes, clawing at his chest . It’s then I realize Nick has his fist speared through the demon’s back, likely squeezing his heart in the same manner he did last evening.
“Once I release you, you will follow me. It’s in your best interests to do so promptly.”
A squelching sound rips through the air, and Lord Argos falls to his feet as Nick removes his hand from the demon’s heart. This time, however, he holds no black and bloodied muscle in palm. Instead, he eyes me coolly.
“Is it not customary where you are from to bow to your King?”
I pull my lip between my bottom teeth, resisting the urge to tell him he’s no King of mine, but to make an enemy of him would be foolish when I need to do the exact opposite.
And so, I curtesy demurely, just as Persephone instructed. Though she advised me to lower my gaze as I bend, I meet Nick’s challenging stare.
A muscle works in his jaw before his gaze flits to the struggling demon at my feet.
Without another word, Nick turns on his heel and makes his way toward Isadora.
I straighten, watching the two from my periphery, and my own heart feels as though it’s clenched between iron fists as he uses his unsullied hand to run a knuckle along her cheek.
Nick glances back toward me, and I quickly avert my gaze.
“Coming, Lord Argos?”
The demon Lord at my feet grunts and slowly rises, one hand massaging his chest. He shoots me a withering glare before joining Nick.
Ignoring her father, Isadora stares at Nick with a mixture of adoration and gratitude, and he returns the affection with a curt nod.
Then, he takes off with Lord Argos in tow, barely sparing me a second glance.